


Rising Tide

by scrollgirl



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrollgirl/pseuds/scrollgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Cam are sentenced to death by drowning, which brings out a phobia and a confession. Fortunately, they both have very competent teammates who can save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rising Tide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cottontail](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cottontail).



> Set post-series for SG-1, late Season 5 or post-series for SGA. Any time after "Brainstorm" is fine.

A squadron of guards marches John and Cam out of the Yobuer settlement, down a rocky beach strewn with seaweed, into the surf itself. For a moment John thinks he and Cam will be unceremoniously shot and dumped in the water, but instead they're forced to wade parallel to the shore for nearly an hour until they reach a tiny cove hidden and bounded on all sides by sheer cliffs. There's more seaweed here, caught up on the cliff walls.

"You must be punished according to the law," says the squadron leader as John and Cam are manhandled further out until waves are lapping at their thighs. One of the guards goes to his knees and feels around in the water with both hands, then stands again clutching a thick iron chain red with rust; attached to the chain is a heavy collar, also made of iron, but newer and less rusted.

Cam's frowning--he doesn't get it yet, but John's blood goes cold in his veins. When they come at him, he fights, elbows a guard in the face. Cam shoves a second guard into a third, and for a brief, adrenalin-fueled second John thinks they've got a chance to swim for it. But the Yobuer outnumber them five to one and they're surrounded, John's tackled into the water, Cam gets bludgeoned over the head.

"Cam!" John renews his struggles, snarling, "Let him go, you bastards!"

"Enough! Justice will be served when the tide has washed you clean," barks the squadron leader, irritated. He snaps his fingers and the guards fasten the heavy iron collar around John's neck, an identical collar with an identical chain going around Cam's. "Once the waters have covered you completely, your teams will be escorted back to the Well of the Ancestors. They will be unharmed, but they must _never_ return."

"All this for nothing, a stupid mistake," John grinds out, his jaw clenched. The high water mark on the cliffs behind them is at least twice John's height. Which means the Yobuer can simply chain up their prisoners and let nature do the dirty work of executing them.

Sneering, the squadron leader signals his men to line up in formation. The guards salute the ocean, then pivot and march back towards the beach, leaving John and Cam to their deaths.

Cam, one hand pressed to his bloody temple, asks John, "You okay?" to which he replies, "Worst. Mission. Ever." He pauses, then adds, "This month."

Rust flakes off the iron chain and stains his palms brown when John grabs and pulls. It doesn't budge. Crouching in the water, he feels under him and realises they're standing on a cement block, not on rocks. There's a large metal ring in the cement, through which the chain has been passed: one chain with two collars, connecting them. John straightens up with a grimace. "Well, _this_ sucks."

"I hate your galaxy," says Cam, both hands pulling hard at the iron collar at his throat. "You know that, right, Sheppard? I really, really hate your galaxy."

"Yeah, I'm not exactly having fun either, Mitchell." But John looks around, takes in the summer-blue skies, crashing surf, and picturesque rocky shoreline. There's a warm ocean breeze ruffling his hair and, okay, the water isn't exactly warm, but except for their impending death by high tide, it'd make for a nice postcard. "At least we've got a nice view," he says philosophically.

"If I end up as fish food, I'm gonna kick your ass," Cam grunts, reaching down and working open his belt.

John's confused. "And therefore you're going to take off your pants?" He's heard stories from Sam and had assumed they were exaggerated...

"Belt buckle knife," says Cam, holding up the tiny double-edged blade. He goes to work on the collar around John's neck, trying to pick the lock. "C'mon, c'mon," he mutters when the blade slips for the tenth time. "Damn it!"

John covers Cam's hand with his own, stilling him. "Let me try," he says, taking the knife. But his luck's not any better--they need real lock picks for this. The worry lines between Cam's eyebrows deepen as the ocean creeps up to their hips.

Giving up on the collars, they focus on the ring bolted to the cement block, hoping to work it loose. Heads submerged, eyes stinging from salt water, they search for cracks in the cement with their fingers, for weaknesses in the metal. After ten minutes of diving and surfacing, diving and surfacing, Cam begins showing signs of distress: he can't keep his head under for more than a few seconds at a time, he barely notices John next to him, let alone what they're working on.

John gets a hand under Cam's elbow and forces him to stand up, take a breather; their uniforms are soaked through, and even with the sun high and hot in the sky, they're shivering. The tide has crept up to their waists.

Flexing his cramped fingers, he frowns worriedly as Cam sucks in lungful after lungful of air. The other man is pale under his tan and completely freaked out. "Cam? Cameron, hey, you feeling okay?"

Arms wrapped around himself, Cam shakes his head quickly, wordlessly.

"They promised to let our teams go," says John, after a few silent minutes. He's grateful for that small mercy, especially since he's the one who knocked a sacred chalice off its pedestal while touring the Ancient ruins. The Yobuer have a very strict 'look, don't touch' policy regarding religious artifacts and when Cam had instinctively caught the chalice two feet from the ground, he'd signed his own death warrant.

Shifting closer, John reaches up to brush a drop of water from Cam's forehead before it can get in his eye. "We're going to figure this out, Mitchell. Hell, we've been in worse situations than this, right?"

Cam swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing. "I just... I don't like the ocean." He turns his mouth up in a sickly smile. "Pools are fine, but I hate being out on the open water. I--I have a fear of drowning."

Fifteen years of friendship, two years of long-distance dating, and John's only now hearing about a phobia? "It's going to be fine, Cam, I swear." It's a rash promise, quite likely an empty promise, but he makes it a promise all the same. Hooking an arm around Cam's neck, he pulls him in for a hug. "It's okay, it's gonna be okay."

Cam squeezes John's ribs, hanging on for a desperate minute, then pulls back and kisses him, closed-mouthed and fervent. "I love you," he whispers.

That first year, back on the old planet, Atlantis withstood a hurricane that wreaked its fury against the city's shields. Right at this moment, the waves of an alien ocean breaking against their chests, John would give anything for those shields so he could keep Cam safe, so he could stop the moon's inexorable pull. "I love you too," he says, wishing for something more useful than words.

"Maybe..." He works a finger under his collar, then tugs at his chain. "Maybe we can snap the chain. Look, it's all rusted--it's been in the water for years, probably."

"In the water, yeah, sure..." Cam's voice trembles, but he nods at John's suggestion and his hands are steady as they move down the chain, feeling each link for weakness.

"Hey, I was thinking," says John, his own hands going to work. "Vala's probably got lock picks, right? And you know Ronon's no good at being held prisoner, or Teyla either." He gets a mouthful of flung spray--or maybe it's flung spume, he can't remember--but Cam's ghost-white face keeps him talking. "I'll bet you a case of that microbrew you like that my guys and your guys? They've already made it back to Atlantis. You really think these low-tech losers can hold them for long?" He looks back down at the chain in his hands, and raises his voice to drown out--Christ, what an expression--the sound of the crashing surf. "Woolsey'll send Lorne out with a jumper and they'll use the long-range sensors to find us, scoop us up, and we'll be home in time for movie night. Star Wars again. Did you hear Teal'c convinced Ronon to give Star Wars another shot? McKay and I have been after him for years and he listens to _Teal'c_ , can you believe it? Not that I'm jealous or anything, but those two have been thick as thieves since you guys got here--"

Cam chokes on a laugh, cutting off John's stream of consciousness. "Sorry," he says, grinning. "About Teal'c, I mean. That's on me." When John stares at him, bewildered, he laughs again and nearly goes under when a powerful wave knocks him off balance.

"Cam!" John grabs his arm, holds him steady until the other man gets his feet planted again. "You're okay, you're okay," he chants as Cam splutters and coughs.

"God, I better confess now, while I have the chance," he gasps, looking shaken. He's dripping and shivering and so beautiful.

"Shut up, Mitchell, I don't want to hear it." They can't die, not like this, not ever. The tide is up to their necks, and every once in a while the waves wash over their heads completely.

"You and Ronon, you guys have this vibe... I don't know how to explain it." Cam makes a face, embarrassed. "You spend so much downtime together--you even went on vacation together, surfing for two weeks. I just... I was jealous. I asked Teal'c to keep Ronon busy on this trip so I could have you to myself."

John swallows a bit of ocean in surprise. "Are you serious?" There have been rumours about him and Rodney over the years, and a _lot_ of rumours about him and Teyla--especially during that first year, which perhaps explained some of Bates' antagonism--but surprisingly little about him and Ronon. Possibly because most of the scientists still don't know what to make of Ronon, and the Marines respect him too much.

But both their teams have never been anything but supportive of John and Cam's relationship, aside from a few snarky remarks from McKay about John's questionable taste, and he has no idea where the hell this is coming from. "Why didn't you say anything?" he demands.

There's no answer from Cam.

John takes hold of his shoulders, shakes him once, looking him straight in the eye. "Ronon's one of my best friends. We've got each other's backs, no matter what. But you're the one I want, Cam, _you're_ the one, not him--"

Cameron's kissing him before John's even finished, arms tight around John's back. The ocean swells, and for a moment they're buoyed by the water...

A wave slams into them and they're swept under, tumbling heels over head, caught and tangled by collar and chain. But John's a fish, has been since he was little--he finds cement with his hands and knees, gets his feet braced, and pushes up to the surface. Cam's still under, though, and oh God, they're chained _together_ \--if John's up here then he's down _there_. Sucking in a deep breath, John drops back down and finds Cam by feel, grabs him by the biceps and propels him to the surface. John sinks deeper in the water, gripping the ring in the cement with one hand to ensure there's as much slack as possible on the chain.

It takes a few seconds, but Cam's legs cease their panicked kicking and after a long minute, or what feels like a minute, he submerges again. He pulls himself along John's arm until he can grab hold of the ring, then flashes a thumb's up right in John's face that he can't miss even through the murk. Cam points at John, then points up.

John nods and goes, knowing that trading places underwater will only save them for so long. He blows out stale air and takes three slow, careful breaths, holding the last one. By Cam's fourth trip, John can tell he's not taking in enough air--he's still too panicked, he's hyperventilating. The tide hasn't stopped rising and the undertow is growing stronger. When Cam surfaces for the fifth time, John grips him by the hips and keeps him standing upright for a full minute, though Cam pulls weakly at his left wrist in protest.

The sixth dive is John's last, because suddenly Cam's being sucked away by the undertow, bubbles streaming from his mouth, the chain going taut. John's chin slams into the cement slab. Pain starbursts along his jaw and he fights to hold his air. But Cam's freaking out, struggling for the surface, arms and legs flailing. John grabs the chain and tries to reel him in, but the undertow is too strong. _Cam, please._

Red light flares bright in the brown-green water and the pull of Cam's body against John's collar is just _gone_ , the chain falling broken to the ocean's floor. _Not Cam, not Cam_ , John prays, frantically pulling at the chain until it's free of the ring, gathering it up. He kicks off from the cement slab, one arm striking forward, feeling the undertow, wanting it to take him.

There, _there_ \--a body. No, not Cam. It's Ronon, blaster in hand, dreads swirling around his head. He points up to the sky, kicks up, and John follows, heart pounding in his chest.

John breaches the surface with a desperate gasp for air, blinking water furiously from his eyes. The first thing he sees is Ronon, grinning. The second thing he sees is Cam, clinging to a flotation device, dazed but absolutely not drowned, with Teyla treading water beside him. The third thing he sees is a jumper hovering over the ocean, its ramp lowered.

"Nice timing, guys," John says shakily, then dunks himself back underwater, needing a moment to, well, breathe. He comes up after a few seconds and swims for the jumper, Ronon beating him by two lengths. Teal'c hauls them effortlessly out of the drink, first Cam, then John, then Teyla and Ronon.

Cam curls up on the floor, coughing and wheezing, fingers scrabbling at the iron collar still weighing him down. "Get it off, get it off, get it off--"

"Mitchell, Mitchell, I've got you," Vala tells him soothingly, falling to her knees beside him with lock picks and skilled, careful hands. One, two, twist, click--it's off. She turns to John and does him next.

Sam squeezes Cam's shoulder, then calls to the front of the jumper where Lorne's turned around in the pilot seat. "Major, get us cloaked and head for the stargate," she orders, and he replies, "Yes, ma'am," and obeys. Then Sam looks back down at Cam and John, soaked to the skin, battered and bruised and out of breath. "You two, strip."

It shouldn't be funny, John's never going to find his boyfriend almost dying funny, but Cam's _face_ when he realises that he's about to lose his pants _again_...

John's got a cramp in his side, but he still can't help laughing. He collapses on the floor next to Cam, wraps an arm around the guy's neck and drags him close. "You heard the lady," he snickers, reaching down to undo Cam's fly. Teal'c already has Cam's boots off, and the pants are next. "Yeah, take 'em off, flyboy."

Cam tries glaring, but there's not much force behind it. They lie there, limp, and trust their teammates to strip them down to their underwear. Leering, Vala spreads a mylar blanket over them--with perhaps a bit more touching than is strictly necessary.

" _Vala_ ," Cam protests, half-heartedly. Her expression softens and she bends down to kiss the top of his head.

Squirming closer, John drapes his thigh over Cam's, feeling the chill of his skin. "Your lips are blue," he whispers, then leans in to warm up those lips with his own.

High above them, Ronon's wringing out his dreads, and McKay's demanding that Lorne turn up the heat, and Vala's saying something to Sam and Jackson about shrinkage. But John doesn't notice them.

He knows only this: that he and Cam are kissing, and that Cam's heart is beating, rhythmic and steady under his palm, and that Cam's chest is rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://cottontail.livejournal.com/profile)[**cottontail**](http://cottontail.livejournal.com/) for [](http://community.livejournal.com/sg_flyboys/profile)[**sg_flyboys**](http://community.livejournal.com/sg_flyboys/). Big thanks to [](http://tesserae.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**tesserae**](http://tesserae.dreamwidth.org/)/[](http://users.livejournal.com/tesserae_/profile)[ **tesserae_**](http://users.livejournal.com/tesserae_/) for her awesome advice on currents and tides and John's experience with the ocean.


End file.
